


In From the Cold

by kisssanitygoodbye, moodymarshmallow



Series: Like Attracts Like [17]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's snowing in Kirkwall, and Fabian Hawke is alone until an unsuspected guest arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In From the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> written by Moodymarshmallow

It rarely snowed in Kirkwall, but when it began, the entire city knew to brace for the impact of a storm fed by the icy waters of the Waking Sea. Refugees in Darktown suffered the worst; with little real shelter to be found, they froze in the streets around sputtering fires. Anders treated the multitudes for common colds and frostbite, yet even as he worked himself into exhaustion, his efforts did little to slow the death the cold brought with it. Lowtown was no better, as houses in the Alienage had been constructed quickly and poorly, with scrap wood and rusty nails. Elves built bonfires by the vhenadahl, risking their necks by stealing firewood from wealthier houses to keep their families warm. Hightown was best prepared for the shift in weather; even the least maintained manors--like the one belonging to Fenris--were sturdy and warm, with solid stone walls providing fine shelter against wind, snow and inevitable ice.

Fabian Hawke, though not prone to extravagant displays of goodwill, invited everyone over for dinner on the coldest nights, opening his home to Anders despite the lingering animosity between them. But by the fifth night of solid snow, the roads were too thick for passage, and nobody took Fabian up on his standing invitation.

After it was apparent that there would be no guests, he sat in the library with a bottle of wine, half-drunk, having lost hope and cursing himself for the foolishness of hoping to begin with. Theron was gone; he had left a week before the snow, and wherever the wardens had needed him so greatly that he broke his promise to leave them must have been far indeed. Wanting him home was foolish, but with only Orana, Bohdan, and Sandal to keep him company, the manor was unbearably empty. Fabian finished the bottle and dozed in front of the fire, opening an eye once or twice when logs settled, the memory of Theron in his lap in that very chair stuck to the forefront of his mind.

"Messere Hawke, I hate to disturb you." Bodahn's familiar voice, ever deferential, pulled Fabian from his sleep and he turned his head towards him, blinking hazily. "So sorry to wake you Messere, but there seems to be someone at the door."

"Who?"

"Well, that's the thing Messere. The door seems to have frozen shut. Perhaps the locks are rusted? I'm sorry to say that both Sandal and I tried and we can't seem to get it open." Bodahn worried his hands as Fabian stood, stepping swiftly out of his way as Fabian passed, grumbling.

At the entryway, Fabian gave the door a good yank, discovering that Bodahn's assessment seemed to be correct. "Whoever's out there," he shouted, hoping his voice was loud enough to be heard through the thick wood, "I would stand back if I were you." Raising a hand, Fabian focused on the Fade, on the warmth of summer, and heat radiated from his hand. He heard a crack on the other side and stopped, wrapping his sleeve around his hand before grabbing the warm knob and giving the door a solid pull. An impressive pool of water was just outside the door, already freezing over, and just beyond that was a small figure, bundled up well against the bitter cold. The figure took a step forward, and despite the heavy, fur-lined hood, and the thick woolen scarf hiding his face, Fabian recognized the bright, sage-green eyes framed by snow-dusted lashes.

"Idiot! Get inside the bloody house!" Fabian grabbed Theron's gloved hand and yanked him in, slamming the heavy door and pulling him to his chest, wrapping him in his arms tightly despite the thin layer of snow sticking to his outerwear. "What are you doing traveling in weather like this?" Fabian asked sternly, realizing only once the words were out how much he sounded like his father, a lump rising in his throat as Theron returned the hug.

"Coming home," he said in his quiet way, and rested his head gently on Fabian's chest.

Before Theron could protest, Fabian was dragging him up the stairs to the bath chamber, releasing him only to open the taps and draw a hot bath. The pipes groaned at the effort, and it took far longer than normal for the boiler to bring the water up to a comfortable temperature. Theron peeled off layers while the water ran, first throwing off the fox fur lined cloak, then the scarf, which he had wrapped around his head in failed efforts to keep his ears warm as well--when uncovered, his ears and nose were red with frostbite. He was down to his underclothes by the time the tub was full, steam filling the tiled room, and Fabian drew him near, putting his hands over his icy ears, rubbing the tips firmly until Theron's wide eyes fluttered shut in contentment. Fabian released him, and Theron slid into the bath, ducking his head under then resting low in the tub, the water brushing against his chin when he moved.

"I'm going to have Orana warm up some stew," Fabian said. "I'll get the brandy from the cellar and warm that too." Theron only smiled as Fabian left him in the hot water. Fabian jogged down the stairs, only then realizing how hard his heart was pounding and choosing to ignore the frantic thudding in his chest. He gave Orana instructions to bring up the food when it was warm, then returned to the second floor, this time to throw open his wardrobe and find the Amell finery, flamboyant and purple and maroon. He thought, with a smile, that he would have thrown away the hideous things months ago, if not for the way they slid down Theron’s freckled shoulders, the neckline too wide for his small frame.

Fabian returned to the bathroom to find Theron in the same position he'd left him in, sunk deep into the water and content. He slid open lazy eyes when Fabian stepped in, beckoning him to the side of the tub. Fabian crouched, rolling up his sleeve before caressing Theron’s wet cheek.

"Join me," he said, inclining his head until the length of his hair dipped into the water.

"Orana's bringing you something to eat, you shouldn't stay in here too long."

"I'm not hungry." He tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on Fabian's palm, smiling when he retracted his hand and pulled his shirt over his head.

Water poured over the sides of the tub as Fabian stepped in, spreading across the tile flooring to pool at a drain in the center of the room. Theron sat up and took Fabian's hand, guiding him down into the water until he was on his knees over him. He sat back again, leaning against the side of the tub while Fabian settled onto his chest, carding wet fingers through Fabian dark hair. Fabian said nothing, just wrapped his arm around Theron’s neck and laid with him, feeling the soft rise and fall of Theron’s chest under his own.

Fabian woke Theron after realizing he'd dozed off and urged him out of the tub. Dried off and dressed in the finery, his hair knotted into a bun, Theron followed Fabian into his bed chambers, where he devoured the tureen of stew despite his claimed lack of hunger.

"You really shouldn't have been outside," Fabian said while Theron finished the brandy, frowning when Theron shrugged. "What kind of fool risks getting himself killed just to get into Kirkwall?"

Theron chuckled. "I seem to remember you having to work with a dangerous smuggler to get in."

"It wasn't in the middle of a bloody blizzard," he said, crossing his arms. Theron stood and stretched, silently making his way towards the bed. Fabian followed him. "You shouldn't have left to begin with." 

"Ahh," Theron said as he pulled back the heavy quilt. "There's the real reason."

"I have to have an ulterior motive for being concerned about your safety, is that it? Well, Kirkwall's a terrible city even when it's not covered in ice; I've already lost everyone I lo--almost everyone," Fabian said, color rising on his cheeks.

"I know." Theron crawled into bed, working himself under the covers, leaving ample room for Fabian to lay beside him. When Fabian relented and laid next to him, Theron scooted to his side and rested his head on his chest. "The wardens were concerned that there might be another blight coming." He looked up at Fabian, catching the surprise in his eyes. "New recruits were having vivid visions of an archdemon, and seeing as I'm the only warden in the area who has even seen one, much less killed one, they were desperate for my council." Theron yawned, catlike, his ears twitching slightly as he made himself comfortable. "Misinterpretations, nothing more. The recruits all described different things--I think they were so afraid of what they might see that they convinced themselves they had seen the worst."

"I thought wardens were supposed to be fearless."

Theron snorted. "All men are frightened boys sometimes." He leaned up and kissed Fabian lightly. "But I'm home now," he whispered, and settled back down onto Fabian's chest. "And you don't have to worry."

Fabian didn't bother to claim he hadn't been worried. Instead, he reached around Theron to tug the quilt over his shoulders. He kissed the top of his head and held him to his chest, stroking his back until he felt him drift off, exhausted and warm. Outside the snow piled up against the front door, and Fabian didn't care. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, the quilt was thick, and Theron curled close with naked affection every time Fabian shifted.

"Don't leave," Fabian whispered into his damp hair, and Theron sighed softly. "I need you more than they do."

"I know," Theron murmured, and Fabian pressed his face into his hair, blushing.

"Go back to sleep, you idiot," he whispered through gritted teeth, struggling to slow the erratic beating of his startled heart. He ran his thumb across Theron's cheek and found him smiling, and in silent confession, he told him he loved him, mouthing it against his hair, in the way he clutched his back, in the relief that Theron was safe and warm in his arms.


End file.
